The Paris Architect: A Novel

“No, we’re going to find our Hebrew in a more logical manner.”


“Seems a shame to tear apart such a beautiful flat,” said Paulus as he gestured at the walls of the palatial apartment. It had incredibly ornate paneling divided by beautiful floor-to-ceiling pilasters that were covered in gilt. The wood floors were parquet and of a rich golden color that glowed in the midday sun. The ceilings were domed, with huge paintings of angels carrying off nymphs into the heavens.

“You know what we could do?” Paulus said with a great smile. “We rip the place apart a bit, then we pick up a Jew in the street, kill him, and say we found the bastard here. How would Schlegal know the difference?”

“Paulus, you’ll make captain yet,” said Bruckner, who was genuinely impressed with his subordinate.

“We’ll just tell him he was hiding in the back of a closet behind one of those fake walls we found a few weeks ago. And when we were taking him downstairs, he tried to make a break for it, and we let him have it.”

“Sounds completely plausible to me,” replied Bruckner.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it very convincing. I was an attorney before the war,” boasted Paulus.

“No kidding, you were an attorney? I didn’t know that.”

“Just out of law school in ’39.”

“So why are you working for a nut like Schlegal?”

“I thought I’d take a break from the law, get some action under my belt.”

“And you wound up chasing Jews in Paris,” replied Bruckner with a laugh.

“Yeah, but better here than in Russia.”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“So what do you say? Do we follow my plan and be able to sit down to a fine lunch by two o’clock?” asked Paulus. He, like most German officers, loved French food. Meals were the highlight of their day, and they planned their menus with the same great care they would take in devising a strategy for a battle.

“I say we do it. But finding a Jew straight off the street’s going to be damn hard. They never go out anymore.”

“You’ve got a point there. Maybe if we have a couple men each take a block and just keep a lookout, we’ll get lucky. Say twenty men for ten blocks. We’re bound to find someone.”

Bruckner walked over to the sofa and stretched out, placing his shiny black boots on the burgundy cushions. He gazed up at the ornate ceiling, blowing smoke rings at it. Paulus got up from the armchair and started to examine some objects on the fireplace mantle.

“What an exquisite porcelain piece,” exclaimed Paulus, holding up a figurine of a deer. It was painted in beautiful earth tones, and the detailing was so precise one could see the whites of the animal’s eyes. “Such incredible workmanship.”

Bruckner nodded at his subordinate, keeping his opinion to himself. He couldn’t stand dust-gathering doodads like that; his wife had a million of them.

“My wife will love this,” said Paulus. He pulled out a handkerchief to wrap up the figurine and stuffed it in the side pocket of his tunic. “It’s too fragile to mail, so when I go home next month I’ll surprise her with it.”

“Well, let’s get to it,” said Bruckner. “Like you said, we should rough the place up a bit. Go out and get Krueger, will you?”

Paulus opened the double doors to the hallway and found Sergeant Krueger and four of his men lounging idly on the steps of the grand center stair.

“Krueger, get off your ass and come in here,” ordered Paulus.

Krueger slowly rose from the stair along with a sallow-faced soldier named Wolfe.

“Krueger, you lazy bastard, I want you and your men to pull apart these rooms like you were looking for someone,” said Bruckner.

“Sir?”

“You heard me, stupid; go through the closets and turn over all the beds,” said Bruckner.

“Yes, sir. At once,” shouted a confused Krueger, who in turn screamed at the top of his lungs at the men in the hall to come in.